Smart, But Dead (An Aggie Mundeen Mystery Book 3)

by Nancy G. West

  Forty-Three

  I hugged her like she’d plucked me from a mine.

  “How are you?” she asked. “It must be scary in here.”

  “It is, but it’s better now. I guess you heard about Princess Diana?”

  “Yes. Horrible. So tragic. But I do have good news. I found you a lawyer.”

  “You did? What’s his name? How did you get him on Sunday?”

  “His name is William Matheson. I scrolled defense attorneys in the yellow pages and caught him in his office doing paperwork. The best part is, when I told him your story, he said he thought he could get you out on bond. He seems very nice. He’ll be here tomorrow.”

  I might be sprung. Tomorrow. “Did he say how much he charges?”

  “It depends on what he has to do. Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it. You can pay me back.”

  “Okay. But only if I pay you back.” I’d pay anything to get out of this place so I could investigate Eric Lager’s murder. “What’s going on around campus?”

  “Not much, since it’s Sunday. I cruised around the science building this morning before I came. SAPD stationed a police officer in front and in back of the building, but they’re keeping a low profile. There’s no crime scene tape. They’re even letting people in to work in the lab. I parked discreetly on a side street from the building to see who went in.”

  “Perfect. Who did you see?”

  “Those two guys from our class. The postdocs? They were in there about an hour. When they came out I decided to follow them.”

  My heart raced. “Did they take anything in or out?”

  “They had backpacks. I couldn’t tell.”

  “Did you see where they went?”

  “I followed them in my car from a distance. They went all the way across campus to some fancy high-rise apartment building, the Garden Apartments. I think it’s for visiting faculty.”

  “I know the place. Brandy lives there. Did they both go in?”

  “Yes. And neither one of them came out.”

  They undoubtedly knew Brandy. Maybe in the Biblical sense. Maybe Bly lived there, Delay stayed with him rent-free, and they didn’t want anybody to know.

  “Did you see Brandy?”

  “No.”

  “Meredith, since I’m stuck here, can you make a couple passes by those apartments and the lab this afternoon and maybe again tomorrow? University offices will be closed Labor Day weekend, but people will still be coming in and out of those apartments. They might even keep the lab open. SAPD might have requested it to watch who goes in. Since Brandy worked with Dr. Carmody, those postdocs might be involved with her. Somebody had it in for Dr. Carmody. It could have been them.”

  “I can’t believe I’m about to do what Sam warns you not to do.”

  “Just don’t get yourself jailed. It really inhibits progress.”

  Forty-Four

  I was back in my bunk, thinking how Brandy and the postdocs could have conspired to bump off Carmody. They could be doing experiments and evaluating data that Brandy couldn’t carry out alone without arousing suspicion. They’d know enough about Carmody’s research to steal his ideas. But first they’d have to kill him. When Eric Lager realized what they were doing, they could have killed him too. How was I going to prove that?

  I was dozing off when Thelma Louise bellowed, “It’s four thirty, chil’en. Middle of the afternoon. Great time for dinner, ain’t it?”

  Inmates circled the cart. We were pretty hungry from pouring out grief over Diana. After dinner, everybody meandered toward the TV.

  Henri Paul, head of security at the Ritz, had driven the Mercedes that crashed. It was rumored he’d been drinking. Dodi and Paul died at the scene. Diana survived the crash but died at the hospital at four a.m. Diana and Dodi’s bodyguard, Trevor Rees-Jones, the only survivor, suffered serious head injuries. A few careless moments. Then disaster. I’d begun to understand how tragedy occurred.

  Thelma Louise piped up. “Nobody’s goin’ to talk about Leroy when he kicks the bucket. Unless it’s about the bad things he done.”

  They giggled, then grew sad and straggled to their bunks. There was nothing else to do but eat, sleep, grieve and worry. I crawled on my bunk, threw an arm over my eyes to block the florescent lights and thought about my predicament. And about Sam.

  I’d give anything if you hadn’t done this, he said. But you did. Those words hurt the most. I’d gotten myself into a mess that even Sam couldn’t undo. He was already provoked by my curiosity and interference. This time, I might have pushed him beyond his ability to forgive.

  Forty-Five

  The door to Unit B clanged open.

  “You’ve got another visitor, Mundeen.”

  I clamored down from the bunk. With jealous eyes flipping toward me, I slithered toward the door fast as I could.

  “Just a relative,” I said over my shoulder. “She’s lonely. Has to work tomorrow on Labor Day.”

  We rode in silence to the first floor. It couldn’t be the attorney this late on Sunday afternoon. Had Meredith discovered something?

  I hustled toward the visitors’ area. She was there, smirking.

  “You went back to campus. What did you see?”

  “I saw Brandy huddling with one of the postdocs as they came out of the lab. They were having an intense conversation. They crossed over the street, away from the lab, chattering like chipmunks. When they got under a tree, they high-fived. Then he mashed her up against the trunk and kissed her. He ran his hands all over her and under her clothes. I thought he might actually undress her until a car rumbled by. Then they laughed and started walking across campus.”

  “What did he look like? Did he have a big nose?”

  “No. Just average.”

  “Must be Stanley Bly. He lives in those Garden Apartments, same as Brandy.”

  I knew from the reverse directory that Bly was the one paying rent. It apparently didn’t take him long to strike up an intimate friendship with Brandy. I wasn’t sure where Phillip-Delay-with-the-nose fit in.

  “Okay,” I said. “The postdocs and Brandy have access to the lab and are familiar with Dr. Carmody’s and Eric Lager’s work. Interesting, don’t you think? Great work, Meredith. Don’t tell Sam.”

  “Don’t worry. You’ll have to tell him yourself, Aggie. And when you get out, don’t do anything to get yourself back in here.”

  “I hear you. Don’t worry.”

  The officer led me back to Unit B.

  Excited by the news, I crawled into my bunk and drifted in and out of a fitful sleep. I’d finally relaxed into oblivion when somebody turned on painfully white overhead lights and shouted, “Breakfast. Rise and shine.” I tried to shade my eyes enough to open them.

  “It feels like the middle of the night,” I said to nobody.

  “It is the middle of the night. It’s three a.m.”

  “Breakfast?” They couldn’t be serious. This was sleep-deprivation torture. Wasn’t that illegal?

  “Yeah. You’d better eat it. It’s a long time until lunch.”

  After I finished, I made my way back to my penthouse, planning to crawl up there, put my arms over my face and sleep until a decent hour.

  When I heard water running, I came to my senses. Bath time. I needed to get up and take a bath. My attorney was coming to see me today. It was Monday, September first. Labor Day. I had to be ready.

  By the time I bathed, washed my hair and fluffed it as best I could, it was time for lunch: ten thirty a.m. Just as we finished, an officer came to the door, stuck her head in and beckoned me.

  “You have a visitor.” She accompanied me to the first floor of the annex and put me into a transport van. The driver headed for the main jail.

  Forty-Six

  The officer who received me at
booking led me down the hall past doors marked “Attorney” and swung right to an area that ended behind cubicles.

  “Your attorney wants to talk to you. Sit here.” She pointed to the round stool in one of the partitioned booths. “Pick up the receiver.” My heart pumped with anticipation.

  Through the glass, I saw a rotund man with a paunch descend in front of my line of vision. His long-sleeved shirt closed at the top with a string tie too flimsy for his bulging neck. His face and hair were reddish, probably from the heat. Or from alcohol. He removed his white Stetson, revealing a low part to one side. From the line of demarcation, thin hair swept across his shiny head. His eyes, deep-set and direct, evaluated me.

  “Your friend, Meredith Laughlin, asked me to come see you.” Since we couldn’t shake hands, he raised a finger in salute. “S. William Matheson the third, Attorney at Law.”

  “Thank you for coming. I’m Agatha Mundeen. Friends call me Aggie.”

  “Let’s hope I fall into that category. I’ve read your file. Want to tell me what happened?”

  He leaned back and folded his arms while I went through events leading to my arrest.

  He listened, studying me intently, and interrupted a few times. Why was I in the lab? What did I hope to find? Had I taken anything? Why didn’t I just let police handle the investigation about Dr. Carmody? That was a hard question to answer, but I tried to explain.

  What did Eric Lager look like when I found him on the floor? Were there signs anyone else had recently been in the lab? Had I touched the spray bottle near Eric?

  Each time I answered, he studied me, watching when I gestured or changed the position of my body.

  I sensed he was taking my measure as much as considering my answers.

  He pursed his lips and looked through the file again. “Have you been interviewed for PR, a personal recognizance bond?”

  “Nobody mentioned that. After I fainted in the courtroom, the magistrate told the officer I could be medically evaluated here.”

  “I see. I understand you’re a student.” He looked skeptical. “Do you have a job?”

  “I was vice president of a bank in Chicago before I moved here. Now I’m a liberal arts graduate student studying how to avoid aging.”

  He threw his head back and guffawed. “Let me know how that goes.”

  “I write the column ‘Stay Young with Aggie.’”

  “I see. Have you owned a house here more than a year?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you ever been arrested?”

  “No. Never. I haven’t even had a parking ticket in twenty years.”

  “Do you have any relatives here?”

  “No, sir. My family all died. But I have friends here, Meredith Laughlin, my two neighbors on either side, and Detective Sam Vanderhoven.”

  “Vanderhoven is a friend of yours?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hmm. That so. Well, I’ve discussed this with your friend Ms. Laughlin, and I’m going to stick my neck out here. I believe your story—strange though it is. I don’t believe you killed anybody or that you’re a flight risk. You might make a pretty good witness, if it comes to that.”

  “No, sir. I mean, yes, sir.”

  “I’m going to post an attorney’s bond.” He held up some papers. “That means I’m going to fill out these papers guaranteeing that you’ll appear before the district judge for trial. To guarantee your appearance, I have to swear I have at least twenty thousand dollars equity in my home. If you don’t show up for trial, the court puts a lien on my house.”

  “Don’t worry, Mr. Matheson. I’d never put you in that position.”

  “Good. I can’t afford it. I’m charging Ms. Laughlin a higher fee than usual because I’m posting this bond. Financial matters will be between you and her.”

  “Yes, sir. Does that mean I can get out of jail?”

  “Yes. As soon as they process these papers.” He started writing.

  I started getting curious. Why would a complete stranger take a risk on me? How much was Meredith paying this man?

  “Do you represent a lot of criminals?”

  “Too many. I used to work in the DA’s office. Felt sorry for some of the poor bastards we prosecuted.” He looked up. “Sorry. For the language and all.” He looked back at the papers. “I thought I ought to help them. Most of them didn’t have anybody else to do it.”

  Where had his empathy come from? Maybe he’d been the black sheep in his family. Had felt downtrodden. I noticed my curiosity hadn’t died.

  He finished writing. “Okay. I’m going to hand over fifteen dollars to the clerk to process these release papers. They’ll take you back to the annex to get your clothes and belongings.” He looked at his Seiko. “One o’clock. Normally, they’d hold you overnight and release you in the morning. But they‘ll try to get you out this afternoon so they can join their families for the rest of Labor Day. When they call me, I’ll wait for you at the front of the main jail.”

  I was going to get out of jail! He’d done it, this fat, balding, perfect angel. I’d have hugged him if I could get to him. And Meredith had found him, bless her heart.

  “There’s two women I need to tell you about,” I called to his back. “Laney Celaya and Sylvia Curtis.”

  I wasn’t sure he heard me about Laney and Sylvia. When the officer took my arm, a smile played around her lips. The back of Matheson’s shirt, stuck to his skin, disappeared from my view.

  Forty-Seven

  An officer put me back into the van, handcuffed and alone. The driver headed back toward the annex.

  The intake officer gave me a onceover. “You’ll be released on an attorney’s bond. That’s unusual. Officer Melton will take you up to Unit B to get your bedding. When you get back here, we’ll get your clothes out of the property room.”

  So much for a warm send-off. Officer Melton escorted me back to Unit B and stood while I stripped my bunk. I was shaky climbing down.

  Sylvia Curtis came over. “How’d it go?”

  “It was okay. The attorney asked me questions, trying to prepare me for trial. They said to bring my stuff downstairs in case he could get me out on bond.” I couldn’t bring myself to tell her I’d be released.

  After the others wandered off, I whispered to Sylvia. “I gave him your name. I’ll tell him about you, but can’t promise anything.”

  She squeezed my arm and smiled.

  Thelma Louise said, “A squeaky-clean burglar and killer.”

  We all giggled. As I started to follow the officer out the door, Sylvia grasped my hand. Others gestured with small waves as I walked through them.

  “Don’t come back, Aggie.”

  When we got to the annex booking area, the tech brought a bag with my black break-in clothes, wadded up and unwashed, from the property room. I peered inside the bag.

  “Did you see a baby’s bracelet anywhere? Pink with lettering on it?”

  She shook her head. “What you wore in is all we have.” I changed in a small room. It was good to be back in my own clothes, even though they weren’t clean.

  Officer Melton accompanied me in the van to the main jail and booking desk.

  “Agatha Mundeen. She’s here to be released.”

  “Put her in holding while we wait on the papers.”

  This holding cell was different from the smelly one. I slid down the wall, leaned against it and closed my eyes, hoping S. William Matheson III didn’t renege on his plan when he saw me dressed in black burglar attire.

  I dozed off and dreamed about being called to the podium to accept a journalism prize for my comprehensive newspaper series explaining current discoveries on extending human life and health. Why did the voice announcing me sound so harsh?

  “Agatha Mundeen! Get up and come over here.
”

  I shook myself awake, stood and walked toward the officer. While she unlocked the door, I noticed the booking area looked different. Friendlier. More efficient. S. William Matheson III lumbered up from a chair and met me at the main desk. I signed release papers, and he led me to his car.

  Even the heat felt good. I inhaled deep breaths of free air. When he opened the passenger door to the front seat, I felt like Princess Diana gliding into my limousine.

  I studied every person, tree, bush and building on the way to my Burr Road house. I told Mr. Matheson all I knew about Laney Celaya and Sylvia Curtis and asked for a pencil and paper to write down Sylvia’s address. He said he’d get Laney’s address from the detention center’s records.

  “They don’t have any money,” I said, “but I’ll pay you if you can help them.” I’d have to reimburse Meredith first and hope Matheson didn’t bankrupt me.

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  When he cruised up the hill to my house, we passed Sam’s unmarked car parked at the curb four houses before mine. I stared briefly. When I sensed Matheson had seen me gawk, I looked away.

  “Friend of yours?”

  “I just thought it was somebody I knew.”

  Forty-Eight

  I heard Sam start his car and follow us to my curb. When Matheson accompanied me to my door, Sam strode up the driveway. He stood there, hands in his pockets, until Matheson acknowledged his presence.

  “Is there a problem, Officer?” Matheson said. He recognized Sam, even in plainclothes.

  “No problem, Counselor. She’s a friend. I heard she was being released.”

  Defense lawyers and cops don’t hold each other in high regard. Policemen think defense attorneys play for the wrong team. Officers go to a lot of trouble to arrest bad guys and get them off the streets, and defense lawyers try to slip them out of jail. Not a strong basis for friendship.